


Sympathy For The Devil

by halfpastemu



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfpastemu/pseuds/halfpastemu
Summary: Nerris is a demon agent from Hell, sent to sanction a number of very strange serial suicides in England, 1945. The culprit definatelly isn't mortal, but without any other leads, she faces a difficult challange finding him...or so she thinks.





	Sympathy For The Devil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoldCrystalCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldCrystalCat/gifts).



„How the hell am I supposed to find this thing if I don't even know what it looks like?!“- Nerris yelled, trying to contain the astonishing amount of anger her boss invoked in her.

„Shouldn't be a problem for such a high achieving demon as yourself.“- answered Death, starting to slowly pace to the door of His office. Nerris followed afoot, her internal rage still present.

„Your Excellency, I'm fully aware of my capabilities, and frankly, even a rank 3 demon couldn't find a thing-..-a person only with a description of the muders they commited!“-she took in a quick breath, seeing that her Master didn't seem to pay her any attention-„Why then, do You require me, a rank 1 demon to accomplish such a task?!“

Death stopped in his steps, and turned his tall, bony figure towards Nerris. Oh, yes, pulling the mysterious card again, thought Nerris, not even slightly intimidated by the cloathed, 7-foot-tall Ruler of The Dead overshadowing her bearly 5-foot tall body. He smirked and barked out a morbid inhumourous laugh.

„Mistakes are repayed with effort and repent, Nerris, dear. Last time I checked, you seemed to be missing the latter.“- Nerris froze. So the rumours, the truth, has reached Death Himself. She bowed her head with the realisation, and finally let Death walk through the blood-red-walled hallway alone, his steps muffled by the rackous noise other demons were making.

After a minute of letting her dark thoughts ramage through her brain, she broke loose. She never had a problem with anxiety while she was alive and she's not going to let it creep into her afterlife. Stupid nerves, I don't even physically have them, so why are they pissing me off?, she thought, making her way down the narrow staircase to her own office. It was a small room. No windows, or light other than a single torch, which was soon to come out anyway. Why bother having any light if demons could see in the dark all the same? It's not like Hell has a natural source of light they could be missing at a certain part of the day. No, it's just a habbit demons sustained from their mortal lives. Something to remind them of their final goal; getting a new life on Earth. The souls destined for heaven remain trapped there, not against their will, but just because of thier parsimony. They don't want to return to Earth a second time, if they could instead choose an afterlife of bliss and enjoyment. Wicked souls that are caged here, in Hell however? Why wouldn't they want a chance at a second life. After all, only the wicked can change the course of history.

Nerris took the files of her new case hessisantly in her hands for the second time after they arrived at her desk early this morning. She scanned through then thoroughly, restlessly pacing her office. „10 serial suicides in one small English town“, another 5 in the neighbouring town, and finally, 3 more in the suburbs of London. Nerris was impressed. And it all started just a mile away from the Portal, a former place of druid rituals that was made visible to mortals as an amature, primitive assembly of giant monoliths. Modern humans call it Stonehendge. The Portal is one of five exits from the Spiritworld. The only problem was that it can only be used by demon agents, for a limited amount of time, periodically, and demon souls that were dimmed worthy of reincarnation. Whatever caused these serial suicides was definately not mortal. It was also definately not registered for using The Portal. And it was Nerris' job to find it and return it where it trully belongs. Hell, no doubt. Nerris' brain, or rather, what was left of it, was working hard, trying to think of a lead. Since demon agent visits to the Earth are timly limited, all the details and plans needed to be dealt with in Hell first, and the field work: precise and minimal.

Yeah, Nerris didn't care for the rules. Besides, it's not like she'd suddenly get a lead out of nowhere with as little information as she had. Her convict is either a demon or a stray soul that somehow escaped, but having done that, it must be dangerous. Well, so am I- she cut herself of. She glanced at her desk and quickly packed all the essential equipment she needed for the job in her trademark blue cone-looking hat. It was a gift from her manager after her first successfull case. It had a sufficient capacity for all necessery equipment of a field agent, and it was the loveliest shade of blue. Nerris took her matching blue, hooded cloath and adjusted her Shifter; an tiny pocket-watch-looking instrument with which demon agents transffered their souls through The Portal, and seized a random mortal body for the whole of their stay on Earth.

Date: October 29th  
Year: 1945  
Era: Christian  
Exit: The Portal

She flipped the metal cover of her Shifter on. Her body started materializing, and as soon as her nerves materialized, she felt excrutiating pain. After all, she wasn't used to feeling anything, so any amount of pain might be unbearable. She fell to her knees, (Oh Hades! She had knees!), and quickly wipped the newformed tears from her eyes. And oh, what's this? I'm a hybrid, not completely black, but definately white too. I guess I could pass as a Latino, she gasped interally. I always wanted to be one. She then examined her clothes. She was wearing a plain yellow shirt tucked into a pair of male working pants, and boots; but her cloath and hat were still there.

After unbelieveable amounts of rain she had to walk through to get to the first small village, she was no longer so excited about her ability to feel again. At least I get to ignore this in Hell, she thought, there even isn't any rain at all. Her Shifter timer was set to 48 human hours, which definaltelly wasn't any consulation for the rain. Since the suicides all happened in a span of three days, the mortal police was probably still investigating it as a case of serial homicide. Which was technically true, except for the culprit, who is definatelly not a human. They must still have the place under survailance. As for the most recent suicides, in the suburbs of London, since they happened right that morning, they could still be undetected, untouched by mortals, who just take all the evidence with them. Nerris needed to get to Whitchapel, London, and fast!

While she was deep in thought, she suddenly felt her left foot sink into the ground, leaving a cold, wet feeling behind. She stepped into a deep puddle in the muddy road. „Arghhh! Stupid mortal puddles!“-she yelled, lowering her voice only when she noticed a bunch of houses spattered next to the road in front of her. She quickly stepped out of the puddle, the lack of her reflection in it reminding her that she still had to be carefull. That was the only catch; a demon agent gets a body, but not a reflection. Which means Nerris had to watch out for mirrors, lakes and even puddles, apparently. This case was going to be even more difficult now.

She continued walking towards the houses noticing a little green truck, with a closed trailor, which was probably carrying eggs or dairy towards a larger city. She went to observe the truck closer when two voices startelled her and made her freeze in place.

„Thanks lots, Fred. I'd have to sell me house if yee weren't sellin' me hens!“- an elderly woman's voice shouted.

„Just doin' me job Poppy, thank the people of London for buyin' 'em!“- responded Fred.

„Aight, true. Nice travellin' to ya, son! Now the rain's all fallen, the weather should be great!“- Poppy concluded and her steps could be heard retrieving back to her small wooden cottage. Fred was opening the truck door, when Nerris took her chance to climb into the trailor. Finally some luck- she celebrated in her thoughts- This mortal will take me straight to London.

After a few hours of travelling on bumpy, country roads, the truck stopped and the smell of smoke and wet asphalt came to Nerris' nose. She heard a pair of booted feet approaching the trailor. Fuck, she needs to get out of here quickly, or this Fred could catch her! She heard to footsteps stop a little and took her chance to escape and run as fast as she could. Now a block away from the truck, she looked around to see where exactly she was. Ealing Road, Wembly. So much for her luck, she'll still have to travell a great distance to get to Whitechapel. However at least London has a handy little thing called public transit.

„Ugh, these mortals are as rotten inside as they are outside. Litteraly.“-said Nerris, not bothering to keep her voice down, since she knew the building was abandoned anyway. She breathed in a horrible stench, her nose not yet accustomed to any odor at all. Usually, dead bodies start reeking after 2 or 3 days, however, if a being that isn't alive itself kills someone, the body decomposes faster, among other reasons, that's why no demon agent is allowed to kill. It probably set the human authorities off by a few days, even if they can't catch the killer if they wanted to. All three victims were accounted for, and upon further inspection, the killer did not leave a trace. However, Nerris didn't give up so easily. If she has only- she looked at the Shifter timer- 35 hours to go, damn, she'll use them. All victims were sitting in chairs, and if not for their obviously decomposing bodies, they would've looked like they simply dozed off during a family dinner, if a family home could be as dirty as this place. A mother, a father and a little prepubecent boy. They were probably tramps, seeing their dirty clothes. Nerris felt sorry for the boy; it seems he had died last, watching his parents die before him. There were no signs of stuggle, which means they all probably died of a „heart attack“. But why would anyone do this? The question seems silly- she thought- people from Hell usually don't need such things; reasons. Nerris didn't manage to get any solid evidance, the place was clean. At least she has a confirmation of the nature of the murderer, and seeing as there are no other agents in London, a stray demon should pop out soon enough.

She left the building minding her steps, so as not to be seen by anyone, and entered the dark, misty night that had fallen over the streets of Whitechapel while she was inside. She walked under the lights of streetlamps looking at her boots while she headed towards a pub. In an instant, a man appeared out of nowhere and grabbed her shoulder. He must've been hiding in a dead-end side alley. Nerris gasped loudly, caught by a suprise.

„Aren't you too pretty to be walking these streets alone, girl?“- said the man, his evil intentions could be heard from his excited, almost morbid voice. A psycopath, probably.

He started reaching for Nerris' pants, but Nerris? In an instant, she took his hand and flung him to the floor. He landed against the lamppost, still coscious.

„Y-you, what are you?!“- he said, disbelief and terror in his voice and tried to rise to his feet while Nerris approached him. She bent down so their heads would be at the same level. She might not be allowed to kill him, but...

„You will never walk again, paralized from the waist down.“- she said mockingly, and with no hessitance or mercy in her voice.

„What does that even mean? You lying little bitch, come here!“- the man said anger evident in his voice as he was trying to rise again. He failed. Nerris could see the realization finally downing on him. His face fell and his eyes displayed pure terror as he cryed out-„M-my legs!“- and watched Nerris' retrieving figure.

People like that man disgust her. She hated them, and yet, she had to work alongside them in Hell. What a paradox. It's almost like she hated herself, and honestly, who doesn't? All that we hate about others is something we don't like about ourselves. We see our mistakes in their own, and put the blame on them. Anyhow, Nerris needed a drink.

A small tavern appeared infront of her. She was so deep in thought that she didn't notice it before. What's wrong with you, Nerris? So distracted. Get a grip and do your fucking job.- she told herself.  
She entered the tavern, and was met with instant warmth that eradieted inside it. The tavern was supprisingly packed, with guests all over the place. It seemed smaller from the outside. It also wasn't fancy or well decorated, just a plain old tavern, with some rustically arranged wooden planks here and there and with poorly-carved wooden tables and stools. She grabed her hat and shoved her hand in, taking out some money she had inside it, and she then put it back on her head. Nobody seemed to bat an eyelash that she'd entered the place, so she went up to the barlady and placed 5 quid on the bar.

„I'd like one scotch shot, please.“- she said, not even trying to do a fake brittish accent, they'd look through her, so what's the point in hiding.

„'Course, babe, coming up.“- said the dark-haired, plain-looking barlady, with an amused smirk on her lips. She slid the glass down toward Nerris, but in her distraction, Nerris failed to catch it, only for it to land in another stranger's hand.

„You're clearly not from here, huh?“- said the stranger, drinking the scotch and frowning when the alcoholic aftertaste reached his throat. „This is pure death juice, anyway.“

„It's only 15%.“-said the barlady, clearly amused by the man's lack of tollerance. His cheeks reddened a bit, but it was only then that Nerris had a good look at his eyes. Piercing green eyes that stand out from the rest of him, his paleness, and a messy mop of shiny brown hair atop his head. So far, this is objectively the most beautiful mortal she'd ever seen. Objectively, of course.

„Yeah, I'm not from here. Tell me, do all Brits handle their alcohol as badly as you? I was told they love to drink.“- said Nerris in response, teasing the stranger. She could at least have some fun tonight, and she needed to forget about her case, which was destined to fail anyways.

„Oi, watch your mouth!“- the barlady scoffed, clearly a bit insulted, but Nerris payed her no mind.

„I took your drink, so let me buy you a new one. The name's Harrison, by the way.“- the beautiful stranger said finally.

„Nerris.“- she said with amusement.

After only 2 shots each, they found themselves drunk already. Nerris forgot that her new body wasn't used to alcohol. After a while of them just talking, an amateour Irish folk band started playing in one corner of the tavern.

„Shall we dance?“- she asked, offering Harrison a hand. He took it, and looked like he discovered something new when he immediatelly looked her in the eye. She dragged him onto a clearing where a couple more people started dancing and was surprised when he pulled her closer, smashing their two bodies flush, so that both of them could feel every inch of the other's torso. The man might not be accostumed to alcohol, but he sure did know how to dance. After only two songs, she looked up to his taller figure and he had a devilish look on his face. Not illminded, but teasing. She returned the look and watched him laugh in delight, because he probably didn't realise he looked like that before she mimicked him. She pulled him even closer and put her hand on the small of his back before her mind could come into focus. He looked at her, light playing shadows on his face. His green eyes glistened and Nerris threw herself at this angelic, yet devilish being in front of her. She pecked his lips, and was surprised when he exhailed, his breath tense, and after a moment, he came so close to her face, that she could feel his every quick breath. He leaned in and bit her bottom lip, retreating as soon as he was done, his widdened pupils fixed on Nerris' ocean blue eyes. She pulled him closer, flushing their bodies together again, and felt a bulge in his pants. She breathed out loudly, and kissed him, properly this time. As soon as he returned the kiss, she deepened it. Before long, they were on their way up the stairs and to what Nerris pressumed to be his booked room. They almost fell a couple of times, both of them drunk and constantly aching to kiss each other. Harrison pulled out a key and messily unlocked the room door. The small one-bed room was only lit by a single street lamp from outside, reflected in a giant vintage mirror on one of the walls. Suddenly, Nerris felt a weird texture under her grip. Was it hair? No, it was more...more...feathery?  
Confused, she finally looked up into the mirror which she was facing.

There was nothing there. Just the room.

Her eyes widdened in shock and she took a few steps back from the still unsuspecting man. He pouted at the loss of contact and opened his eyes. They were glowing green in the half-dark, and behind them, on his back, layed a pair of coal-black angel wings, and a mirror missing both of their reflections.

Nerris took in the picture in front of her, her brain working a bit slower because of the alcohol.

No reflection. Wings.

It's him. It's her culprit. He's not from Hell, he's never even been there.

He's an angel fallen from Heaven.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writitng it. It is an ongoing fic, and the total number of chapters isn't decided yet, but I will try to update at least every week.  
> Thank you for your kudos! ;)


End file.
